


Luoyang to Beijing

by DeviyudeThoolika



Series: Precious Things [2]
Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: I'm a huge fan of long train rides since Ethan Hawke/Julie Delpy's Before Sunrise, M/M, Yibo and Xiao Zhan on a long train ride, what can i say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25669393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeviyudeThoolika/pseuds/DeviyudeThoolika
Summary: Wang Yibo and Xiao Zhan and a train trip from Luoyang to Beijing.---------------Also, this story is part of a much longer rpf of mine, Precious Things, but I thought this section likely could exist on its own, especially for those folks who may not be into reading long series.  Although, i’ve been told by a lovely leader to let all future readers know that if you have any inclination to read the longer one, it is much preferred to hold off on reading this one.
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo & Xiao Zhan, Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan
Series: Precious Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861279
Comments: 20
Kudos: 129
Collections: bjyx best done





	Luoyang to Beijing

**Author's Note:**

> Just FYI, this is a work of fiction. And some far-ass-fetched fiction too. The real Yibo's mother is alive and well.  
> To know what this disclaimer is about, I guess you'll have to keep reading. - Devi
> 
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He wakes up from his short nap feeling the vibration on his wrist, the alarm letting him know that the train will be pulling into the station in twenty minutes or so. The book that he had been reading is still in his hands, his thumb holding place even in slumber.

It has been almost eight weeks since his last visit to Luoyang. He had called Mr. Wang intermittently, mostly just five or ten minutes here and there, usually with his mother taking over after the first two minutes. He was silently thankful that she didn’t ask why he did this. He had no answer to give her. He didn’t even know why he did this. He had gone to visit Wenhan’s and Yixuan’s families too, although only once. This would be his fourth visit to Luoyang thus far. Something about watching Mr. Wang that day in his house, how he had seemed transfixed by Yibo singing as if for the first time, had stuck with him. What was the point of having a child like Yibo when the world had more of him that you ever did. The way Mr. Wang’s eyes had glistened at the end… it was as if it had never even occurred to him to ask Yibo to sing for him before. As though he didn’t have the right to do so…

Xiao Zhan does not remember ever missing having a father before. Even if he did, he is not even sure that is the reason that he goes to see Mr. Wang. Each time he makes the 4 ½ hour train journey back and forth, he tells himself that this is not something that he can keep doing. The Sundays that he chooses for these visits are all but gone for just this. He doesn’t have enough Sundays in the year to justify monthly trips from Beijing to Luoyang. Ultimately though, it doesn’t matter. He comes because he wants to. If he gets the sense that Mr. Wang doesn’t appreciate them any longer, he will stop. Although monthly was likely too much. Eight weeks seems a good enough interval. He doesn’t have to make quite as many excuses to himself if it’s eight weeks. 

The cab is there to pick him up when he gets out of the train station and it’s just a twenty-minute ride to Mr. Wang’s house. It’s a quiet neighborhood, the sort that in some sense seems a relic from a few decades ago, like something you would see in an 80s reboot show. Mr. Wang knows all of his neighbors; some have even stopped by when he has been there before. The longest he stays is two hours, which is how long he thinks Mr. Wang can tolerate having a guest over. He is still a quiet man, although maybe by now he has warmed to Xiao Zhan’s presence. He has been coming for about five months after all. The last time he had been over, Mr. Wang had brought out Yibo’s old albums, two neatly organized ones with many many pictures of a chubby-cheeked feisty-looking Yibo, often hugged by a woman with a lovely smile. The woman in those pictures is nothing like his own mother. For some reason, he is glad for that. In all the second mothers Yibo has adopted in his life, none has been like the one who birthed him. He is not looking to replace the mother that he lost eighteen years ago. He just enjoys the attention from more mothers, is all. Xiao Zhan can appreciate that sort of loyalty. 

Mr. Wang had also brought out a large envelope with a lot of loose photos and a blank album. He had left it out on the coffee table and said that this was going to be his next project, arranging all those photos into an album that he had bought some years ago. 

He had ordered a scanner and sent it to Mr. Wang’s house a few days ago. It should have gotten there by yesterday. He had told Mr. Wang about the scanner, that this way, they could scan all the pictures in when he gets there and upload it onto the tablet so that it can play those pictures on repeat for a more dynamic album display. He imagined that it would likely take more than two hours. Whatever they didn’t finish this time, they could do when he came back next.

The cab pulls up to the house, breaking him out of his reverie, and he pays before walking up with his reliable bag of fruits. He has wondered whether he should stop bringing them, but it seems the thing to do for those who grew up in Mr. Wang’s generation. 

He rings the doorbell and waits, turning around briefly when someone from the road outside calls out a greeting to him. It’s a neighbor that he has met before. He is waving back when hears the door open. 

“It’s a full house today, huh?” the neighbor calls out before walking on and he wonders if he is interrupting other guests.

“Xiao Zhan.” He hears the deep throaty voice behind him and freezes. 

He is unable to speak for a moment when he turns back around, the shock of seeing Yibo here, so unexpectedly and so far away from their other world rendering him mute… then a pang of longing so strong claws up his insides that it’s all he can do to stand there instead of turning back around to find his cab and train back home.

He thinks he might do that anyway, and suffer the consequences later.

“Ah, there you are!” Mr. Wang is suddenly there, right behind Yibo. 

He smiles automatically, looking beyond Yibo to Mr. Wang, and Yibo finally moves aside to let him come in. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Korea?” he asks once he is inside and it strikes him then truly that Yibo is actually here. In Luoyang. Instead of Korea.

“I took a weekend off.” Yibo says with a shrug.

“He didn’t even let me know. Just showed up last night.” Mr. Wang says with a smile, walking into the living room ahead of them.

He gives Yibo a look. Yibo pretends not to see. 

When he gets to the living room, the scanner has already been set up.

“Yibo scanned all the pictures in once I told him what you ordered this for.” Mr. Wang is saying, walking to the tablet now to turn it on to show the display. The first few are a pouty 6-year old Yibo and the few that come next are slightly older, 7-8 maybe, although now he is less pouty. Less expressive in general. 

“You got more fruits?” He is distracted from the changing picture display when Mr. Wang speaks again and he turns around with a smile to walk into the dining room to put the fruits in the bowl there.

“Have you been cooking?” he asks, following Mr. Wang into the kitchen, ignoring Yibo completely. Which he plans to do until he figures out the best way to deal with the fact that he is here. Aside from all the questions it raised – _how? why?_ – he also needs to deal with the undercurrents that are easier to ignore when Yibo is a 5 ½ hour plane ride away. He tries especially hard to not think about the UNIQ life video the new channel had posted from Yibo’s birthday. About how Yibo had… _No, No… Stop_.

“Well, it’s not all the time that he can come back. So I thought I would make one of his favorites.”

“Isn’t that just dumping vinegar into anything?” he asks teasingly to Mr. Wang, although he hears snickering behind him and looks back to find Yibo leaning against the opposite wall. 

Mr. Wang laughs and opens the lid of the pot. Beef noodle soup, maybe?

“Whoa! That looks serious.” he remarks, trying to inhale the smell as his stomach clenches with a more basic hunger than before.

It must have growled because Mr. Wang looks in his direction and says, “You’re hungry. I always feel badly about not feeding you when you come here, but I didn’t want to assume that you had time to stay for lunch.” 

“Oh no, no, I don’t want to put you out. Honestly.” 

“It’s no trouble. I have to eat anyways. We might as well eat together.”

“Should I be jealous?” they hear Yibo’s voice and give him a brief look before turning back to each other. For a moment, they just look at each other and then Mr. Wang grins. An actual grin. As if it tickled him to hear that his son, _the_ Wang Yibo, could actually be jealous of somebody else.

“You’ve essentially adopted my mother. Why can’t I adopt your father?” he asks absently, taking the bowl of soup that Mr. Wang passes to him.

Mr. Wang’s grin gets wider, but he catches the look on Yibo’s face as he passes by him on the way to the dining room. 

What sort of shit is he saying? He swallows as he puts the bowl down. He has barely enough time to recover before Yibo comes out with his own bowl. And then Mr. Wang is out too. Yibo ushers his father to sit down and gets two glasses from the cupboard and brings out a pitcher of water. He disappears into the kitchen and comes out with a cup of steaming water with a piece of lemon in it and Xiao Zhan wonders if he is not feeling well.

“His throat is always acting up.” Mr. Wang offers in the way of explanation as Yibo takes a seat. 

“It’s fine, dad.” Yibo says.

“When he was younger, maybe 8 or 9, he was in and out of the hospital for a while with myocarditis.” Mr. Wang says and Yibo immediately interrupts with, “Daaad.”

Mr. Wang ignores him. “The doctors had said that he should likely give up dancing. But you know Yibo. When has he ever let a little thing like inflammation of the heart stop him from doing something he wants to do? Much less sore throat?”

He looks at Yibo, who looks back at him and just rolls his eyes.

“So, what happened?” he asks, putting his chopsticks down. 

“He recovered. As if by sheer will.” Mr. Wang says as if that explained it all, smiling again and gesturing at him to eat.

He doesn’t feel like he has an appetite anymore, but picks up the chopsticks anyways.

They eat in silence for a minute before Mr. Wang asks about his mother. Before he can answer, Yibo answers for him and it’s Mr. Wang’s turn to look jealous. 

“They talk every week.” He says to Mr. Wang, rolling his eyes. 

“She just likes to check in. What’s wrong with that?” Yibo asks.

“She has told me eight times already that your second semester GPA is 3.4. I don’t think she was that proud when I pulled 4.0 for the first two years straight at University.”

Mr. Wang is positively beaming now and Xiao Zhan looks at him with an affectionate smile. He thinks he has seen proud fathers before. He must have. Even if his father is not in that category, it seems impossible that he has gone his whole life without seeing a proud father. No, he has. Haikuan’s father is pretty decent. Not that he has spent that much time with Haikuan’s father. But he seems like he would be a proud father. 

Then it strikes him that maybe it’s because Yibo’s father is alone so often that he feels comfortable claiming him a bit. Just a little bit.

“Showoff.” Yibo mutters, although he is smiling now as he takes another bite of his beef.

“What time is your train to Beijing? Is it the same as Xiao Zhan? Maybe you can go together?” Mr. Wang asks then.

“You’re flying out of Beijing?” he asks in surprise. 

Yibo nods. 

“When?”

“In the evening. I’m taking the 2:00 pm bullet to Beijing.”

He swallows hard. He cannot be in the same train as Yibo for 4 something hours.

“Is that the same one you’re taking?” Mr. Wang asks and he nods.

“He is probably in the VIP section.” Yibo says with a smirk, raising an eyebrow when he gives him a look.

“I’m not. I’m in business.” He replies with an eyebrow lift of his own.

“Oh, so is he. Maybe you can sit together.” Mr. Wang says.

“Dad, this is not like school lunch where I can just go sit wherever I want.”

Mr. Wang tsks at that. “I am not so old that I am unaware that reservations can be changed. You still have an hour and a half before the train.”

“It’s alright dad. I’m sure Xiao Zhan wants his privacy.”

Now Mr. Wang is looking at him and he plasters on a smile as he pulls out his phone. “We can see if the seat next to me is open.”

Of course it’s open. He had checked this morning.

“Really it’s no bother.” Yibo says and Xiao Zhan puts his phone down.

“I think Yibo wants his privacy.” He tells Mr. Wang.

And now it’s Yibo on the spot and it’s he who whips out his phone to open the app for the train. “What’s your seat number?” 

And just like that, in the span of five minutes, he has been locked into spending hours on the train with Wang Yibo, the boy that he had sent off to an entirely different country to keep away from him.

xxxxxx

He had booked the window seat, but he ushers Yibo into that one now, taking the aisle instead.

“I’m fine with the aisle seat.” Yibo says without moving in.

“ _I’m_ not fine with people trying to invade my privacy just because they think there’s a 0.5 percent possibility that it’s Wang Yibo behind the mask and hoodie.”

He can see Yibo’s eyes narrow for a moment, but then he obeys and moves to the window seat. 

Once they sit down, Yibo removes his mask, although he keeps the hoodie up. “This is an inconvenience for you, isn’t it? It’s a long ride and maybe you like traveling alone, sitting by the window and reading a book.” Yibo eyes the book in his hand.

He glares at Yibo for a moment and then leans over to whisper, “It is definitely an inconvenience. An annoyance even. Maybe you want to go back to your original seat. I’m sure it’s empty.”

For a moment, he sees Yibo’s nostrils flare, and he wonders if it’s in anger or upset, but then Yibo turns to look at him, and he sees that it’s actually amusement.

“Does everything out of your mouth mean the exact opposite of what you mean?” Yibo asks. 

He rears back in surprise, although he feels an unbidden smile tug at his lips and bites down on his lower lip to make sure it doesn’t show itself.

Yibo’s eyes drop down to his lips and then the smile is gone just as quickly as it came. He can almost see the moment Yibo’s lids turn heavy, but rather than blast him with the force of that gaze, Yibo turns away, towards the window, raising the shutter a little to look out. 

He swallows hard. The train hasn’t even started for this type of tension to rear its unwelcome head.

They are quiet for a bit after that, Yibo staring resolutely out his window as if the empty middle of the platform holds all the mysteries of the universe. 

The train starts before long and he buries his head in his book. He does not see any of the words, but it allows a useful diversion to regulate his breaths, control his senses, still his hands… any number of betrayals his body seems entirely willing to partake in. Most of all, it contains his eyes from straying to his side when all he wants to do is stare…

And then, as if his eyes willed it into being, they get their chance when within first ten minutes of the ride, Yibo falls asleep, his head rolling gently until he sags onto his shoulder. He holds himself still for a good five minutes, afraid that Yibo will wake up if he moves. But then, his body protests and once he relaxes, his body adjusts naturally to make Yibo more comfortable. 

He is surprised at how deeply Yibo falls into sleep, a light snoring teasing his ear within a few minutes. He listens for a bit, it’s a cute sound, but when he hears the attendant’s footsteps behind him, he turns to press Yibo’s lips together with his hand. The attendant walking by pauses to smile at the picture they make and Xiao Zhan pulls his hand back just as quickly. 

That effectively contains the snoring for the moment, although now that he has felt those lips under his fingers, it’s difficult to not look. One, two, three, four, five gazes are not enough. Because who can look at Yibo’s face, especially his sleeping face, just once. Or five times. And then it’s difficult to look away. 

He didn’t know how long he kept up the creepy staring, although when the attendant came around again, this time offering some edible choices, he quickly averts his gaze to his book. His thumb has slipped away from where he kept place and now he has to go back to the last dogear that he made, which he assumes is at least five pages before the part he was in the middle of reading.

He reads once more to understand where he is at and then reads the same part five more times before giving up completely. He brings out his phone and plugs in his airpods. He meant to listen to some music, but ends up watching – it is likely no exaggeration to say for the two hundredth time – UNIQ life’s last upload. The bit he watches again and again is the last two minutes and before he knows it, he has done the same again now at least ten times in a row. 

He pauses the video when he sees the attendant’s shadow next to him and puts the phone face down on his lap before looking up at her, thinking that he will get a cup of coffee. However, she is not looking at him, but to his right. His mouth goes dry as he turns to his side and sees that Yibo is awake. Not groggy awake. But wide awake. As if he has been awake for some time. 

“Do you have hot water with lemon?” he hears Yibo ask and thinks the attendant answers in the affirmative, but he is not sure over the loud ringing in his ears and the heat beneath his collar. Was there a possibility that Yibo had not seen what he had been watching on his phone on repeat? Could the Universe find it in itself to be that kind? 

“And you, sir?” the attendant asks and he answers… something inaudible. She walks away with a nod and he assumes that his attempt to order his beverage of choice is successful.

This is patently ridiculous. He hadn’t had it this bad even in the worst throes of his crush on Haikuan. And he and Yibo had already fucked. There was no mystery here, nothing unresolved, nothing that should send him into a coronary like the teenager he had never been even at thirteen. 

And yet, here he was.

“What are you reading?” Yibo asks, his voice soft.

Yibo is giving him an out. Without having to acknowledge what he had been doing. 

“Norwegian Wood.” He says, closing the book and tilting its cover in Yibo’s direction.

“How is it?” Yibo asks.

“Good, I think…” he says absently, looking up at Yibo, finally catching his eyes. They are soft and warm. He swallows past the lump in his throat and looks at his watch. They are only an hour in. 3 ½ more hours. Too long. Eternally short. 

“How was your nap?” he asks, looking back at Yibo. It strikes him that Yibo’s eyes have become the center of his gravity. Since the first time he saw him that day in the hotel, even when he looks away, he can’t help but return, something pulling him back without letting him go, no matter how far away they are from each other or how much time passes between each of their meetings.

“It was good.” Yibo says, his cheeks flushing as if he was embarrassed that he had fallen asleep.

“It sounded like it with how loudly you were snoring.”

“I was not!” the embarrassment is gone now as Yibo looks up hotly, as if he had uttered something profane.

“Oh you definitely were.” He says, enjoying this. He leans closer to add, “I even had to hold your mouth shut so that you wouldn’t wake the neighbors.”

“What neighbors?” Yibo asks because there is literally no one else in at least two rows behind or ahead of them.

“The neighbors in first class.” He answers, winking. The attendant is back with their drinks, the same one he had seen all this time and she smiles as she says, “It’s true, he had to hold your mouth closed. But it was a cute sort of snoring. We didn’t mind.” She says as she passes over the hot water with lemon. 

There’s a pink flush to Yibo’s cheeks again and the attendant practically beams at the sight as she pours Xiao Zhan’s coffee. Although she is so focused on Yibo and she almost overpours and Xiao Zhan has to physically hold her hand to stop her. She does, but some of the coffee splashes on his hand anyways. He pulls back on reflex, but it’s not scalding and he thinks he has avoided any serious burns, although his skin turns pink within seconds. 

The attendant is beside herself; in fact, within seconds, she looks on the verge of a panic attack and he has to once again take her hand in his to tell her that he is okay. It’s just a bit of warm coffee. It’ll be fine. It’s best to not make a big deal out of it. 

“But I have to tell my supervisor, sir.” She says, trying to keep her voice in check, although he can see that she is about to fall apart. 

“No, you definitely don’t. I would not appreciate anyone else knowing.” He says, brooking no further argument. 

She nods hesitantly.

“Will you bring a bottle of cold water please?” Yibo asks now.

She nods again and is gone in a flash.

“I think she is going to go throw up in the bathroom.” He says once she leaves, trying not to rub his hand. 

Yibo takes his hand in his hold and blows on it from a distance, so that his breath is cool by the time it hits his hand.

“Unnecessary.” He says, just as meanly as he intends.

“I know.” Yibo says, looking at him, before he blows on it again.

He tries to pull his hand back, but Yibo keeps it in his hold, “My pretty face practically gave you a second-degree burn.”

“Your pretty face almost cost that girl her job.” He tries once again to pull his hand back.

“Yea that too.” Yibo says with a smirk, refusing to relinquish his hold.

The attendant is back with a bottle of cold water and a glass of ice water. She stands still after she hands them the items, almost as if she is afraid to move.

Xiao Zhan looks at her name tag.

“Ah Qing.” He calls and she looks up at him, startled.

“Do I look like I’m not okay?” he asks, trying to give her his most disarming smile. His hand burns like hell, so this requires some effort, although Yibo is still holding onto it, so at least it’s bearable.

She shakes her head with some effort.

“So I’m okay, right?” he asks again.

She nods.

“And you’re okay?” he asks now.

She starts to nod, then shakes her head, but then stops and nods her head again.

“Stop confusing her.” Yibo says, tugging on his burned arm.

“Fuck Yibo. Are you trying to peel off the skin?” he asks before he can stop himself, although Yibo did not touch anywhere even near the burn itself. 

“Oh sorry, sorry.” Yibo says, blowing on it again, right before he takes the cold bottle and presses against the skin.

That felt better immediately.

He collects his breath before turning back to face Ah Qing. 

She no longer looks paralyzed with fear, but is instead looking between the two of them curiously. 

“What?” he asks.

She looks at Yibo, who is completely absorbed in blowing and rolling the bottle against his hand, before she looks back at him.

He can almost see the wheels turning in her head.

“No…” he starts, but then his reason thankfully comes through and he shuts up, lifting an eyebrow at her instead.

She looks back at him levelly, her previous fear all but gone, a slight smile lighting her face now. 

He tilts his head in question and she pulls her lower lip in to bite down on a smile and then whispers, “You’re so lucky.”

Yea, fuck that.

He doesn’t say it out loud though, but rolls his eyes.

She smiles wider and with one last look at the distracted Yibo, she leaves, no longer in mortal danger of emptying her stomach contents into the bullet’s toilet, her fujoshi heart flying to the seventh heaven at the two beautiful men with the most beautiful smiles, one so smitten and the other so so fucking Tsundere that it gave her butterflies. 

xxxxxx 

“Does it hurt still?” Yibo asks and he turns to him, stopping the pretension of reading once again. Because how the fuck is a person supposed to concentrate when Wang Yibo insists on holding onto his hand. 

Yibo’s hold is soft and the bottle is still on top of the burn, although it is no longer all that cold. He doesn’t have the heart to tell Yibo that though. 

“This is the catchphrase of our entire relationship.” He answers.

Yibo looks up from his hand, slightly distracted, his eyes questioning. 

“Did it hurt? Does it hurt?” he says.

“Don’t you hate pain?” Yibo asks with a smile. 

“With a passion.” He answers. 

“Must be why it didn’t work out.” Yibo murmurs. 

His eyes fly up to Yibo’s but Yibo has already turned to face out the window.

He thinks of saying something to make it better, but he must be sadistic when it comes to Yibo because what he says instead is, “Indeed. No one else has made me bleed.”

He sees Yibo’s throat work up and down, but he doesn’t turn back. 

There is a stitch in his chest because Yibo doesn’t respond.

“I haven’t let anyone else…” he whispers.

There is an infinitesimal pause when he sees Yibo’s entire body go still. He stops breathing for a moment. Yibo doesn’t look back though, but he feels Yibo’s fingers slot between his where he had been holding him, squeezing gently. He squeezes back.

Yibo is still looking out the window though, so he folds the book and asks, softly, “You knew I was coming to Luoyang, didn’t you?” 

Yibo doesn’t answer.

“Who told you? My mom or your dad?”

“Your mom wouldn’t do that to you.” He says immediately.

“Why?” he tugs on their joined hands.

Yibo turns back. “She wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“Ah. And we’ve established that you love to hurt me.” He says, quirking his lips.

Yibo looks up, sees his expression, and tilts his head. “Not as much as you love to hurt me.”

They stare at each other and he remembers all the times when Yibo has bitten him on his shoulder. There is a phantom pain there now, although the last wound from there is long healed, the only thing remaining the hint of a pale white scar left behind. He looks at it often, wishing it to fade no further.

“Your dad then?” he asks when the gaze is veering off into dangerous territory.

“It was inevitable. How was he going to keep it a secret from me?” 

“So, you just show up at his doorstep? Why didn’t you let him know that you were coming?” 

“Why? So he could alert you and you could cancel your trip?” Yibo tilts an eyebrow.

“Why would I do that?” he asks with his own eyebrow action.

“Oh come on, you try not to be in the same country with me, much less in the same room.”

“You give yourself too much credit.” He starts to pull his hand back and this time Yibo lets him. He must have looked startled because Yibo takes his hand back almost immediately. 

“Do I?” Yibo asks now, looking at their joined hands.

He doesn’t answer and instead unfolds his book, once again returning to pretend to read.

“It made me happy though.” Yibo whispers and his ears perks up, even though he doesn’t look away from the book.

Yibo must know that he is listening because he continues, “I don’t even know if dad knows that he is lonely sometimes. He’s been alone for so long that I think he just thinks that’s life. He doesn’t want to move anywhere else. He won’t date. It’s like he has made his peace with living out his days like that. That he won’t make any more expectations out of life.” 

He puts the book down and looks at Yibo.

“It used to drive me crazy. I miss her too, you know. But that doesn’t mean everyone stops living.”

“He lost his wife and his mother, Yibo.” He reminds gently.

“And I lost my mother and grandmother. The only women I had in my life.” Yibo answers a bit heatedly. 

He squeezes Yibo’s hands softly, hoping to soothe.

“Sorry.” Yibo says.

“Why?” he asks.

Yibo looks at him in question.

“What part of how I treat you makes you feel like you ever have to say sorry to me?” he asks.

For a moment Yibo looks at him blankly, and then his expression turns.

“You mean to tell me that all your rudeness is just a form of affection?” Yibo asks.

“Affection is too strong a term.” He answers, smiling.

“Then?”

“We have developed sufficient… familiarity… that we can dispense with all formalities, pleasantries…” 

“Social graces.” Yibo interrupts.

He looks at Yibo. “Fuck social graces. If you say sorry to me again, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Yibo’s all that's curious about this looming threat.

He thinks of that for a moment before he says, starting to pull his hand back, “Thank you for your help, but I think my hand is all better now. I’m sorry for disturbing you for this long. I’m sure you have better things to do. I’ll just see myself to that seat over…” he starts to get up from his seat and Yibo pulls him back and takes his hand again, grinning, “Yes, yes, you’ve made your point.”

He grins as well, squeezing Yibo’s once more, although he adds, “I hate the word _sorry_ from anyone I know well.”

“So I should never apologize if I do something wrong?”

“If you do something wrong enough that you need to apologize, then you better not think I’m going to be satisfied with just a sorry.”

“Ah... I see.” Yibo says now, catching on.

“So you were saying that you’re glad that I like your dad more than you do.” He reminded as a segue back to their earlier conversation.

“Is that what I was saying?” Yibo asks now, his smile turning sweet.

It makes him squeeze Yibo’s hand involuntarily and Yibo looks down at where their fingers interlace each other.

“In so many words, yes.” He says, trying to break the moment. 

“Why do you go to see him?” Yibo asks, looking up, absently rubbing his thumb along the edge of his palm.

He takes a moment to answer that. “Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe in the beginning it was because he seemed like he had sort of lost you, you know. Like when he heard you sing. It seemed like it was the first time he had heard it. And then maybe I felt badly that I was the reason that you had to leave him behind for Korea once more…”

“So you’re trying to replace me… ah…” Yibo says now, although he is smiling.

“I’ve been trying hard. I don’t think he’s buying it. I look nothing like you, first of all.”

“A vast improvement, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.” he says without missing a beat, making Yibo laugh.

“But I do think he is slowly getting used to me.” He says warmly.

“He is quiet like me.” Yibo says and he nods in answer.

“What do you guys talk about?” 

“Nothing much really. I mean, it’s not like we are sitting around shooting the shit.”

“No, you just bribe him with fruits and electronics.”

“That allows him to see more of his own son.” He says as a reminder.

Yibo goes quiet at that and he turns to see if he had offended him.

Instead, Yibo’s gaze is soft. So soft that he has to look away.

They are quiet for a bit until Yibo finally taps the cover of the book that’s on his lap.

“Read something to me.”

“What?” he asks, turning back.

“Any random part. Anyways you’re not even reading properly.” 

“How do you know?”

“You’ve been on p. 185 for the entire trip.” Even Yibo’s tone holds a smirk when he says it.

Wrong, he is actually way beyond the 300s, if he remembers correctly. He has no recollection of holding the page at 185 or even what was written on 185.

“Well, you’ve been ruining my concentration what with the snoring, the second-degree burn, the smitten attendant… really, you are a walking…”

“Sitting.” Yibo interrupts.

“Sitting” he allows, “Menace.” He finishes.

“So, enlighten me. Read.” Yibo is amused, but not deterred.

“Any part?” he asks.

Yibo nods.

He flips the book open to a random page and reads,

_“Waiting for the perfect love?”_

_“No, even I know better than that. I’m looking for selfishness. Perfect selfishness. Like, say I tell you I want to eat strawberry shortbread. And you stop everything you’re doing and run out and buy it for me. And you come back out of breath and get down on your knees and hold this strawberry shortbread out to me. And I say I don’t want it any more and throw it out of the window. That’s what I’m looking for.”_

Yibo laughs. “I like it.” He says.

He laughs as well. He had liked that paragraph too when Midori had said it in the book. More than selfishness, he thought it spoke of some level of trust in the other that they love you without condition, the way a child trusts a parent to not hate you even if you pull the worst kind of bratty shit in the world.

“Read more.” Yibo says.

He flips to the end, because what the hell, the flow of the narrative is all fucked up in his head anyways, and now he wants to know how this ends, even though that’s beside the point really, but it is what it is. And so he reads,

“ _I have a million things to talk to you about. All I want in this world is you._ ” He pauses there, thinking he should flip to another page. This seems a dangerous line of reading. Yibo tugs on his hand though and he continues, “ _I want to see you and talk. I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning._ ” 

He stops there and a moment later, Yibo asks, “What’s the name of this book again?” 

“Norwegian Wood. Murakami. It’s a pretty well-known novel.” 

“Maybe I should have read more when I had the chance.” Yibo muses.

“When did you have the chance?” he asks.

That gets Yibo to smile at him, although he now says, “Read from another page.”

“Hmm…” he flips through again and reads,

“ _There’s one other thing. Maybe it’s just to do with me, and you may not care about this one way or another, but I’m not sleeping with anybody anymore. It’s because I don’t want to forget the last time…_ ” he stops, unable to continue. He is about to fold the book but Yibo grabs it from him and finds the line to continue reading, “ _It’s because I don’t want to forget the last time you touched me. It meant a lot more to me than you might think. I think about it all of the time_.”

He is breathing hard by the time Yibo finishes reading, Yibo’s voice changing the tenor of Watanabe’s voice entirely, whispering new secrets into the words. 

He looks away from Yibo and thus is more aware of where their hands touch, each point where skin meets skin, and he thinks it would have been easier to look at Yibo than to… _feel_ …

xxxxxx

Yibo is quiet for a long while afterwards, although their hands remain joined where they are. And now that words and gaze are absent, he can feel Yibo’s warmth. 

“I haven’t.” he hears the whisper and for a moment he thinks that Yibo has spoken, but then he sees Yibo look his way and he realizes that it was he who had spoken.

Yibo’s eyes widen in shock and then his own eyes widen too at what his short-circuited brain had just admitted.

“What?” Yibo asks, his hand tightening involuntarily.

“What?” he asks back, for a moment only able to mimic.

Yibo lets go of his hand to reopen the book and then his fingers are running down the page to find the passage that he had read before. And he starts to read it again.

“ _Maybe it’s just to do with me, and you may not care about this one way or another…”_ he slaps his hands over Yibo’s mouth to get him to stop reading, but Yibo just pulls it off and holds onto it now as he continues, _“…but I’m not sleeping with anybody anymore. It’s because I don’t want to forget the last time you touched me. It meant a lot more to me than you might think. I think about it all of the time_.”

“Which part?” Yibo asks.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He turns away and Yibo grabs his chin to bring it back to him.

“You just said you haven’t. To which part? That you haven’t slept with anybody else? That you haven’t forgotten that last time I touched you? Or the last part?” here Yibo pauses, and his voice gets quieter, “Or that, you haven’t thought about it at all?”

“The last one.” He says quickly. Too quickly. 

Yibo tilts his head, watching him. 

“Yibo…” he calls. There’s an entreaty in his voice to not press. To not ask anymore.

He sees Yibo’s throat work up and down, that knot there he had loved running his lips over now seeming almost untouchable to him.

Yibo notices the way his gaze has slipped and returned, and in the next moment he whispers, “You’re always going to love me like _this_ , aren’t you?”

His eyes close at Yibo’s question, because he thinks maybe Yibo can read all the naked answers in their limpid depths. A moment later though, he feels the heat of Yibo’s palm by his cheek and he leans into it without thinking.

“Every time I think I’m alone in this…” Yibo pauses and he focuses on the warmth of those fingers against his face as he waits for him to continue, “you always do something that makes me _feel_ you all over again. And the more you fight it, the worse you get.” One finger strays softly to brush over the mole below his lips and he stops breathing.

“I don’t…” he says, because, that after all is his default where Yibo is concerned.

He hears Yibo’s soft laugh and then that voice is husky when he leans closer to counter with, “You think as long as we don’t sleep together, you’re in no danger. But I think because we don’t sleep together, you just keep on falling harder and harder.”

“I don’t.” he says, grabbing onto Yibo’s wrist with the intention of pulling it off.

“You’ve traveled on this train four times in the last five months, four and a half hours each way, just to spend an hour or two with my father. Just because you think he might be lonely.”

Yibo pulls his wrist out of Xiao Zhan’s hold and twists it so that he is back to being the one who is holding. He then kisses the tip of Xiao Zhan’s thumb before folding that finger down.

“Wen Xu.” He says simply as if that explained that whole issue before he kisses Xiao Zhan’s index finger and folds it down.

“When your father ordered me to enroll in University, you told me that it was my choice. You and I know very well that if push came to shove and I told you no, it would have been an uphill battle for you to convince your father to get me out of it.” He kisses the middle finger and folds that one too.

“It really wouldn’t have been.” Xiao Zhan feels obligated to point out.

“Oh yes it would have been…. Especially because we know half of what you have done since your father called us for that first dinner is to make sure that I didn’t stand out as anything worthy of his notice. And certainly not as someone whom his son would go to make waves over.” Yibo must have taken the dinner as a separate matter altogether because it now gets the ring finger kissed and folded.

His eyes are still closed and he waits against his will but with bated breath to hear what the last one is going to be… because he knows that one more waited in this kissing game, if nothing else other than to complete the set.

Maybe something about his mother…

Yibo drags this one out, so much so that he starts to wonder if there is even a fifth one. He is just about to open his eyes when he feels Yibo’s breath by his ear. 

A spark of electricity catches on the nerve there and fires it way all across his limbs and down his spine. 

“And despite what you think of yourself, you are the most loyal thing I’ve ever met in my life. There is no way you’re still dating Haikuan if you let me do all this to you…”

His eyes snap open at that, just in time to catch Yibo’s lips press against the pad of his pinky finger before that too gets folded down.

For a moment, he stares at Yibo and Yibo stares back, with all his fingers with Yibo’s lip imprint on them now folded into a fist in Yibo’s hold. 

When he thinks he may throw all caution to wind and kiss Yibo, he pulls his hand back and says, “You’re playing with fire.”

“So you’re always saying.” Yibo mutters in frustration, the first sign of how strained he has become over the last two hours, “Just burn me up then.”

He looks over to see Yibo retreat back to his seat, exasperation evident now in every line of his face.

“What? Should I haul your over to the cramped bathroom so that you can fuck me there? Because you think I’m no longer dating Haikuan?”

“Fuck you.” Yibo says, turning to look out the window.

“Wasn't Jackson trying to get in your pants anyways?”

“Yea, maybe I should just let him fuck me.” Yibo doesn’t turn back, but there’s bitterness in his voice now.

“ _Let him fuck you_? Since when did you flip?”

“Fuck you.” Yibo says again, but now he gets up to walk down the aisle, in the direction of the bathroom.

He knows he has taken leave of his senses when he waits just ten seconds to follow Yibo.

The door is locked when he gets there, but when he knocks, it opens like Yibo had known he would follow.

They are in each other arms as soon as the door closes, hands and mouths devouring each other even though the space is so limited there is barely any room to move around.

There is a string of expletives, hoarse and hard, that fall from Yibo’s mouth as Xiao Zhan’s lips soften over his neck, even as his hands climb up under Yibo’s shirt to press into his back muscles, feeling like he can’t get close enough.

“Kiss me harder.” Yibo pleads, pushing his neck against his lips in the hopes that it would open.

Xiao Zhan pulls back instead to catch his breath. 

“I can’t leave any marks on you.” 

“I don’t care.”

“You will once you get back to Korea and then have to explain to the others how a weekend trip back home gave you hickeys.”

“Fuck, I can’t take it. Honestly. I feel like my skin is going to catch on fire.” Yibo says, desperately. 

He feels that every time he is around Yibo.

He doesn’t know if he is driving the desperation up or down when he turns Yibo around to sink his teeth into the back of his neck, his mouth taking over with a gentle sucking motion while his hand under Yibo’s shirt plays over a hard nipple and the other hand drops down over his loose joggers to palm his erection. 

He has to turn Yibo’s mouth to his to swallow the sound of his moan. His hand slips inside the joggers and boxer briefs to pull on Yibo’s hard cock and then his own dick is so hard that he can hardly concentrate. Yibo’s moans get too loud to contain in a kiss and he has to pull his hand away from his nipple to give him a finger to suck on as his other hands pumps his cock up and down. 

“Fuck baby, you have to be quieter.” He whispers in Yibo’s ears, wishing he could take him away somewhere else where he can scream out his pleasure to his heart’s content.

Yibo’s too gone to hear it though, so he just has to make sure that his finger remains in Yibo’s hot mouth, as his lips suck on it with such focus that he can feel its firm pull on his dick.

“You’re going to give me wet dreams for months…” he practically moans into Yibo’s ears, feeling his dick twitch with how hard it is. 

Yibo’s eyes open and he lets go of the finger in his mouth for moment to turn sideways to look at him. “I can’t even touch myself without thinking of you… it’s been hell thinking that I can’t control jerking off to imagining about someone else’s boyfriend.”

He doesn’t have an answer to that, so he just focuses on making Yibo feel good, pulling long and firm on his dick until Yibo is writhing with the build-up.

He feels Yibo’s ass grinding against his dick as Yibo’s hands reach behind to pull him closer.

He brushes kisses all over Yibo’s nape and down the column of his neck while Yibo brings his finger back into his mouth to suck. 

And before long, Yibo is coming, long stripes of it aimed so accurately that there is really no need for cleanup. If he wasn’t so consumed with lust, he would have made fun of yet another one of Yibo's talents. 

Yibo falls against him afterwards and Xiao Zhan leans against the sink at his back, exhaling forcefully, his breaths hitting Yibo’s hairline, rustling the mini brown strands there. 

Without thinking, his clean hand wraps around Yibo’s waist and pulls him back fully against him so that they are pressed together from shoulders down to thighs, his legs spread around Yibo’s. 

Yibo sinks back into it, his body boneless, and Xiao Zhan buries his face into the slope of his neck, breathing him in deeply. 

Yibo’s hand reaches up to tug lightly at his hair. 

He is still hard and Yibo must feel it now more fully because his other hand sneaks behind his back between them. “Let me take care of you.” 

He pulls Yibo’s hand off and shakes his head into his neck.

“We’ve been in here too long already.”

“But…” Yibo starts.

“Coming is not really important.” He cuts him off. 

Yibo turns his head to the side where Xiao Zhan’s face is still pressed close. 

He senses the question in that turn and says truthfully, “I just wanted to hold you. Smell you. Kiss you.” 

Yibo’s fingers card through his hair then, tenderly, and Xiao Zhan has never felt so full in his heart. Especially while his dick is still so frustratingly full too. 

xxxxx

He intends to only wait a minute before returning to the seat after Yibo had already done so, but instead he stays longer, standing back against the locked door and deciding to finish the job that he had not allowed Yibo to do. He wants it to be just a quick and hard release so that he won’t be tempted to think with his dick anymore during the rest of this trip, but when he closes his eyes, he sees Yibo’s full lips wrapped around his finger and pulling on it so sensually, that he has to work hard to keep from moaning as his dick hardens like iron. When he finally spills out, his head and senses filled to bursting with Yibo’s smell and taste and pleasure-filled face, he has to bite down on the fleshy-part of his palm to not growl like an animal. 

When he opens his eyes from how they had been scrunched up tight, there are dots and prickles that blind his vision before it clears. He cleans up and washes his hands and dries them in a napkin for a full minute before he looks in the mirror. His lower lip is bruised, he can see, his eyes are still blown out, and his hair is mussed where Yibo had brushed his fingers through them before. He stares at himself for a long time, for the first time seeing what Yibo might see when he looks at him. Then he loses interest in that when instead of seeing his own reflection, the mirror starts to look more and more like Yibo. He blinks and the superimposed image disappears and then it’s just him. He can see it already. There is a sort of vulnerability in his eyes. It no longer mattered whether he admitted it or not, when Yibo looks at him, he sees this. And this gaze told Yibo that no matter what his mouth said, his eyes are the only thing worth trusting. 

_You’re always going to love me like_ this _, aren’t you?_

He blinks again and now when he opens his eyes, the weakness there is gone. 

He leaves the bathroom and starts to walk back to his seat, but gets stopped by Ah Qing, who passes him a cup of hot water with a wedge of lemon. 

“I think his throat is still bothering him.” 

He takes the water from her, his eyes warming without meaning to, although he now asks, “Do you know who he is?” 

She shakes her head. 

He had figured.

“Do you like him?” he asks.

She looks surprised for a moment, blushing, and shakes her head.

He smiles. “When you find out who he is, don’t tell anyone that…”

Her eyes widen. “Is he famous?” she asks.

“Yea, somewhat. But he will be a lot more famous soon. And then, when you truly become his fan…”

“I will keep it a secret that he is yours?” she asks, cutting him off, her eyes twinkling.

 _You’re always going to love me like_ this _, aren’t you?_

In secret. That’s what Yibo had meant. 

“Will you?” he asks with a smile.

She nods eagerly. 

He takes the cup from her now, but asks, “You don’t think I’m too mean to him?”

She laughs now, and he notices that she is actually quite pretty when she laughs. 

And she tells him like she is sharing a secret. “He likes it.”

One of his eyebrows rises at that. “How can you tell?” 

She shrugs. “He is sort of glowing from the inside out, even with the sore throat and all. That means, he must like it, no?” she asks.

“You’re weird, you know that?” He says, although he is smiling. 

She nods, smiling. “I know.” 

“Don’t spill hot coffee on anyone else because you were too busy staring at hot boys, ok?” 

She shakes her head, giggling.

Yibo is surprised to see him carrying the hot water when he returns. 

He takes it and waits until he sits down before leaning over to whisper, “Where were you? I was about to send a search party.”

He looks over and snorts. “Just because I didn’t want _you_ to take care of business, doesn’t mean that business did not need to be taken care of.”

For a moment, there is pause and then Yibo looks over, “Don’t tell me…”

“I won’t.”

“You? Jerking off in a public bathroom?”

“Love has nothing to recommend it as far as sex is concerned.” He says blithely as he pulls out his phone to check the text that just beeped through.

Before he can look at the phone though, Yibo is spitting out the sip of water that he had just taken and coughing.

“What? Too hot? Wrong pipe?” he asks, slapping Yibo’s back.

Yibo stops coughing and looks over. Ah Qing was right. Yibo is glowing, his skin flushed pink and gold in the sunlight filtering in through the window. Although a coughing fit will do that too.

“Did you just admit that you love me?” Yibo asks, leaning forward, eyes wide and lips puckered in mock confusion. 

“I believe what I said was that love led to bad sex.” He was truly a sourpuss when it came to Yibo.

“Fuck that. Even when we didn’t have love, we had great sex. You’re just mad that you didn’t get to come.”

“Oh, I came. Alone.”

“By choice.” Yibo looks amused. 

“You hardly looked like you had strength to lift a finger, much less jerk someone off.”

“I can fix that right now.” Yibo says, reaching under his food tray to slip a hand over his crotch.

He pretends to be bored as he lifts Yibo’s hand off to return it to his lap. “Too late.”

Yibo smiles, his eyes glowing even more now.

 _He likes it._

“Our fujoshi attendant thinks you’re a sucker for my brand of asshole charm.”

This just makes Yibo smile wider. And that smile is so infectious that it makes him smile too.

Yibo’s smile vanishes then, although his eyes get softer and he leans in to say, “Your brand has to be asshole to balance out this smile.”

He purses his lips because he wants to smile wider. And that wouldn’t do. 

He leans in too then to say, “At least I make some effort to balance it out. What about you? Just going around giving your smile out like free candy to all the fucking Jacksons in the world.” 

“Are you jealous?” 

“Of Jackson? Hell no.”

“Well, I was jealous of Haikuan.” Yibo admits candidly and there is hint of a wistful smile on his face.

“Were you?” he asks, his smile gone.

Yibo looks over and nods. “So much. He is so nice that it made me ever crazier, but I just had to admit at some point that there was no way I could win over him.”

If he only knew…

Instead, what he says is, “He _is_ a sweetheart.”

He is a sweetheart who had fallen in love at almost first sight with Wen Xu’s fiancé, Jin Su’s older brother, Jin Guangyao at their engagement ceremony a month ago. 

Xiao Zhan didn’t think Haikuan was even aware of it himself, but as well as they knew each other, he knew all the signs. He _should_ know… he thinks, as he looks at Yibo now.

“Well, good thing you like bad boys.” Yibo says. 

He bursts out laughing at that. “Who misled you into thinking you were a bad boy?”

Yibo looks properly offended now. “I am the _definition_ of a bad boy.”

That definitely produces more laughing. “Vocabulary must not be your thing then. You don’t even meet a single criterion of being a bad boy.”

While Yibo sputters at this, Xiao Zhan adds, “You are a pretty boy who is into bad boys.”

This time, it is Yibo who snorts and then laughs. “You think _you_ are a bad boy?”

“The real kind, not the fake bullshit kind that only appeals to teenyboppers.”

Yibo scoffs at this distinction. “What’s the real kind?” 

“The kind who doesn’t brag about shit that should not be bragged about.” 

“Ahh.” Yibo says after a moment. “The shit you have to do to cover up for Wen Xu doesn’t make you a bad boy.”

“It does.” It’s a statement, offered definitively.

“Do you regret it then?” Yibo asks.

He is quiet now. He wonders how to answer. And then he answers it honestly.

“I don’t lead the kind of life that allows for regrets, Yibo.”

“What if one day you do?” 

“I don’t think I’m genetically predisposed to regrets.” He answers. “And I don’t mean that facetiously.” 

“Why? Because of your father and brother?” Yibo asks.

“I’m the same blood. I wouldn’t have too many grand expectations of me.” He says and by Yibo’s look, he thinks Yibo understands what he means.

“You think you won’t be able to feel for me like I feel for you.” Yibo says. 

Xiao Zhan thinks about that for a moment before he answers, “When something is novel and exciting and there is youth and beauty and lust, you think you will feel that way forever. But the novel will get old, excitement will dull, youth will age, beauty will fade, and lust will dim.”

Yibo lays his head back against his seat before he says, “You don’t really think you feel any less than I do. You just don’t really trust that what you or I feel is anything long-lasting.”

He looks at Yibo and Yibo looks back at him. “I may be a bit jaded for you.” He finds that being honest with Yibo is more bittersweet than he expected.

Yibo holds his gaze for a long while. And then asks, “Should I love you until you’re old and gray, Zhan ge? When your pretty eyes are clouded over with cataracts and those long sexy fishnet legs need a cane to get around, and I can’t get it up anymore without Viagra and you no longer want any ass action anyways because no amount of lube in the world is going to make it feel good and I have a Despicable Me paunch with wiry legs and arms so that I look like I may tip over face front any moment, and you have gone full bald and we think you should definitely try that hair regrowth oil we saw on the home shopping channel…”

He is laughing now and Yibo stops, his lips wide with a huge grin. For the life of him, he can’t stop laughing. He laughs until there are tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes and when he stops, Yibo is just watching him, that grin still on his face, although there is so much fondness there now that his heart pinches with an ache unlike any he had known before. And for the first time, he thinks that if what people called soulmates and all really did exist, he wishes Yibo is his.


End file.
